


Parlay

by eyegnats



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ingrid and Felix are so straightforward, Other, Propositions, implied Sylvain/Felix, implied sylvain/ingrid, non-binary ingrid, so they’re talking about it, technically a kinkmeme fill but there’s no sex, they’re both gay but they don’t know what the fuck’s goin on, this is the most efficient proposition ever conceived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyegnats/pseuds/eyegnats
Summary: Ingrid asks for sex, Felix responds. Commonalities are found.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	Parlay

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the kinkmeme for an nb ingrid/anyone prompt but I didn’t end up writing sex and the prompt didn’t specify weird friend propositions so in the end I didn’t bother to refind it to post this for fear of being a self-indulgent hijacker.
> 
> Anyway. Here’s these disasters with absolutely no vocabulary for their queerness at their disposal.

“Sylvain will have sex with you,” is the first sentence out of Felix’s mouth when he is propositioned. It isn’t elegant, but it’s not malicious either. His voice is flat. He does not care—and in many ways except the main one, Ingrid is relieved. 

“I’m not having sex with Sylvain,” Ingrid replies. Their posture and voice are straightforward, their voice strong. There is no other option.

“He’ll do it,” Felix says, turning away from them to continue polishing the sword propped over his knee. It’s late. The fire is low. Felix is the last man left in the knight’s quarters for the night, other than Ingrid, and he’s in no rush to leave.

“Sylvain likes women,” Ingrid bites. 

The cloth in Felix’s hand stills. He thinks this over. Then says, simply, “publicly.”

“Publicly?”

“Sylvain likes women,” Felix repeats, “publicly.”

“He’s told you this?” Ingrid asks.

“Yes.”

“You’re certain?”

“He’s shown me.”

Ingrid blinks. Then, with surprise, states, “you’ve slept with Sylvain.”

Felix does not respond directly. “You should ask him. He’ll agree. He’s fond of you.”

“I’m asking you.”

Felix’s brow furrows. “Why?”

A thick silence settles between them.

“If you’re going to reject me, please do it now,” Ingrid states. “This conversation is going on longer than intended. I’m getting embarrassed.”

“Don’t. I’ve put up with worse from both of you than propositions,” Felix says. He slides a final stroke of cloth down his sword and sets it aside on the long wooden table reserved for tactics meetings and beer steins. “Sit down, then,” he says.

Ingrid huffs with hot, red cheeks. “I don’t want to talk about it. If you’re going to turn me down you should do so now, and save us both the awkward small talk,” they say.

“I’m not.”

“What?”

“I’m not turning you down.”

“Oh.”

Ingrid’s legs feel heavy when they step forward, towards Felix. Ingrid settles stiff but distantly pleased on the bench. The nervous little thrum of courage begetting results beats in their chest. They sit side by side with Felix. Their leg presses alongside Felix’s own. They knock their knee against it, the playful action settling their nerves under a guise of childhood familiarity. 

“Can I ask a question?” Felix says. 

“Yes,” Ingrid replies.

“Thanks. I’ll reiterate: why?”

Ingrid’s fingers curl around the bench beneath them. “Because I want it,” they mutter. Then, after a pause to muster honesty, “...Because you like men.”

Felix stares, unreadable. “That’s why, then.”

“Not entirely,” Ingrid says. “I trust you. More than most.”

“More than Sylvain?”

“As much as Sylvain.”

“...That’s reciprocated,” Felix states. He smiles, but Ingrid watches his jaw flex. He’s hesitating. It’s foreign in the way it makes his shoulders clench, his eye contact falter. He leans closer. His voice lowers. “Ingrid,” he starts.

“Yes?” they reply. 

“You know I’m terrible in bed, right?”

It’s so unexpected Ingrid snorts. Like a horse, their head bucking downwards and nearly colliding with Felix’s own. “Sorry,” they attempt to say, but they’re smiling, and it parlays across as disingenuous. 

Felix’s eyes narrow. “I’m serious,” he says. “Terrible.”

“Are you?” Ingrid replies. “I would have thought the opposite was true.”

“People propositioning usually do think that of their targets, yes.”

“Yes but you’re,” Ingrid flushes. “Flexible? I don’t know what my grander point is here. You’re handsome.”

“You’re handsome,” Felix spits back. “That doesn’t make you good in bed.” Felix pauses. “Are you good in bed?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. I’ve only had it once.”

Felix pauses for even longer. “...Who did you—“

“Ashe.”

“Ah.” Felix looks as if this is obvious in hindsight, giving Ingrid a simple, single nod. “Ashe,” he repeats.

“Yeah.”

“Then I want you to think about Ashe,” Felix says. “And I want you to think about what it would have been like if he was stressed, and stonefaced, and pushing back against every human instinct to react in a manner that could potentially be construed as positive. That is what I’m like in bed.”

“If you don’t want to have sex with me you can just turn me down, Felix. You don’t have to drag yourself along the road there,” Ingrid replies.

“I’m setting reasonable expectations,” Felix states.

“You clearly didn’t mind making peace with Sylvain,” Ingrid says, a bit exasperated.

“I trust Sylvain,” Felix says. Then, adds, “I trust you. Why do you think we’ve made it so far into this conversation?”

“You’d really want to, then.”

Felix glances away, feigning distraction. “Don’t act so surprised.”

Ingrid lets out a breath of tension they did not realize they were holding. “Okay,” they say. Then, to backtrack, “even if I’m not a man?”

“Are you a man?”

Felix asks the question with an even tone, devoid of expectation.

“I don’t know,” Ingrid says.

“You don’t know?” Felix replies.

“I like men,” Ingrid says, before adding, softer, “I like women too.” It feels strange to say it out loud.

“That means nothing to me,” Felix replies. “Do you want me to call you a girl during sex or not?”

“Do you need to call me a girl during sex?” Ingrid replies. “Is that a thing?” They’re right, and Felix falters a bit.

“No,” he says. “I guess it doesn’t come up, really.”

“I’m happy with that.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

“What do you...” Felix’s words fail in his mouth. He regroups. “What do you want, then?”

“I want...” Ingrid thinks for a long moment. They didn’t realize they would get this far, that this topic would come up and demand specifics. “What have you done with Sylvain?”

“Not a lot,” Felix says.

“Whatever you did with him,” Ingrid says. “I want that.”

“I gave him a lackluster handjob in the second to last stall of the royal horsekeep.”

“Okay,” Ingrid says. “Not that! Never mind.”

Felix laughs. Ingrid does too, light and even. It’s a welcome break from the tension. Felix offers, voice still levied, “I’ve stayed the night with him before.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

When Felix does not elaborate, Ingrid kicks at his leg. “Don’t ‘yes,’ me and then not provide any details.”

“Are the details important?” Felix asks.

“No, I’m just being nosy, now,” they reply. “Was he nice?”

“Sylvain?”

“Who else?”

“He was fine,” Felix states. Then, he adds, “...he’s the only one. So far.”

“So he’s the best you’ve had,” Ingrid chimes. “He’s probably thrilled with that.”

“Also the worst,” Felix says back.

Ingrid smiles. “I’ve got stiff competition then.”

“And I’m about to be bested by Ashe.”

Ingrid doesn’t know what compels them to do so, but they hold out an arm in pact. Felix eyes it for a moment. Then he smiles back, and extends his own. They clap their hands to one another’s forearms, lifting up and down in a single, firm shake. Ingrid leans their face forward. Felix meets it, both their foreheads resting together and their fingers sliding down until they’re holding hands in lieu of arms. Felix’s thumb flicks over Ingrid’s. Brief, and affectionate.

“Okay,” Ingrid breathes out. They squeeze Felix’s palm. “My room or yours?”


End file.
